


Guilt

by romanticalgirl



Series: John-verse [1]
Category: Brothers & Sisters
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:11:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hate the sin, love the sinner</p><p>Originally posted 6-22-07</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilt

He’s lonely.

He knows that and he knows that it’s dangerous. It shouldn’t be, and he wishes it wouldn’t be, because he loves Kevin, and hates that he still has these _feelings_. It would be easier, he thinks if he could be like all the guys he’s read about in books and on-line who swore up and down they were bisexual until they found a guy and just admitted that they were gay and fighting it. Hedging their bets.

But there’s always going to be Donna, and even if there wasn’t, there’s still this hard kick to the gut that hits John whenever he sees a gorgeous girl. A blast in his stomach that slides lower and pulses along his cock so that he has to look away before Kevin gets that look in his eye that says he knows what John’s thinking, which just serves to make John feel worse about thinking it in the first place.

The problem isn’t with women though, it’s with _woman_. Namely his very shapely, very _smart_ , very…everything temporary roommate. It’s with the way she sits on the edge of his bed and talks to him while he’s getting ready for work, talking about her job like he understands half the fucking words she’s saying, even though they both know he’s lucky he understands a quarter of them. But she talks like he knows and there’s always Springsteen in the background – since she found out he’s a major Springsteen fan, she’s been making him educate her, and she _gets_ it, which makes John feel even worse, because, try as he might, Kevin never will.

It’s also in the way she talks to Clarence and refuses to let him be sad, the way she ignores John’s admonitions about bacon and the fact that the dog’s getting fat and just laughs and rubs Clarence’s tummy until he makes that little growling noise in the back of his throat, legs waving in the air. It’s in the way she gets out of bed about the time he’s coming home and makes him a drink to put him to sleep at the same time she’s pouring her coffee to get ready to go and she’s always smiling, even at three in the morning.

If he’s honest though, it’s also in the way she doesn’t quite shut her bedroom door, even though she knows he’s likely to look, and the way she throws her laundry in with his, so he’s folding a Zepplin T-shirt and suddenly there’s this little scrap of silk, warm from the dryer and like sin against his fingers. It’s in the way he can hear her when her boyfriend’s over and he fucks her – she makes these almost silent little gasps, and it’s in the way that he closes his eyes and pictures her beneath him when he strokes himself off, trying not to feel so fucking guilty that he’s listening to Kevin breathe on the other end of the line.

So he knows he’s completely helpless when he comes home from the club later than usual and she’s sitting on the couch in the living room dressed in a t-shirt that he’s relatively certain is his. Especially because she’s crying and looking up at him with these green eyes that are sharp and sad and just as lonely as he’s been feeling for nearly two months now.

“Jamie?”

“H-he…he b-broke up with m-me.”

John’s always wondered about the brain power of the idiot Jamie’s been dating the entire time he’d lived there – gay or not, he’d never let his girlfriend live with another man – but now he’s pretty sure the guy doesn’t even rate idiot. John sinks down onto the couch and reaches out, fingers just brushing over her toes, painted some god-awful electric blue. “Well, he’s obviously had a lobotomy or something.”

She sniffles and laughs, the sound something like a hiccup. “It would e-ex-explain some things.”

John shakes his head slowly, his thumb teasing over her toes for a moment before he slides his hand to curve around her ankle. “The fact that he couldn’t quite tie his own shoes?”

“Or had to recite the rabbit thing to even get close?” She sniffles again, the hint of a smile curving her lips.

“I think I caught him eating sand once.” He ducks his head and looks at her, holding her gaze. His thumb keeps moving, tracing slow arcs on her skin. “Not exactly brain trust material.”

“But he was good in bed.”

John can suddenly hear the sound in his head and he wonders what it would take to make her make it. His breath catches and he gets caught somewhere in her eyes. “L-lots of guys are good in bed.”

She nods and leans in and kisses him and his breath catches again, tightening his lungs, his throat, constricting around his heart. She tastes like chocolate and coffee, like mint and cream and he can’t help but press his tongue to hers, tangling them together and drawing her deeper, closer.

Jamie whimpers softly, the sound filtered through the lingering haze of her tears and she opens her mouth more, shifting her weight so she can move in, her body against his. John groans, can’t help it, because it’s been forever since he’s felt this, felt the supple, softness of curves, the swell and slide of hips and breasts and ass. His hands explore her everywhere, sliding beneath the t-shirt – and yes, it’s his, and he needs it back, because it’s from the _Tunnel of Love Express_ tour – but he’s never filled it out like that, never seen it like that, pulled tight over breasts and nipples hard against the fabric. It’s vaguely wrong to bend his head and lick them, and he can hear Kevin’s voice somewhere in the back of his head teasing him about Bruce and homoeroticism, and he’d choke on the thought except she’s taking the shirt off and now it’s just skin.

She fills his hands and his mouth and she lays back against the arm of the couch, and she’s naked except for – oh, _shit_ , there’s this braided design tattooed from her bellybutton down to the waistband of her… - John’s fingers catch in the fabric and it’s even silkier on her, and he can’t help but slide his fingers over the material, can’t help but notice how his fingers shake as she shudders beneath his touch.

Her hips lift as he lets his fingers trail down between her spread thighs to the wetness of the fabric, fingers slipping past the edges to warm skin and the hard nub of her clit and the wet.

It’s the wet that causes him to jerk back, the sudden movement like a whiplash of sense, overloading the musky sweet smell of her. Jamie shivers and mewls and he pulls his hands away, watching them tremble an effort to not watch her, to look at anything that _isn’t_ her. He can feel her eyes on him, feel them burning with need and want and the realization that whatever it is she wants, he’s not going to provide it, however close he might have come.

“I have to…” He stumbles off the couch, over Clarence and into his room. He hears something crash against his door, and is pretty sure whatever’s broken was likely his, likely expensive and not _nearly_ what he should pay for what he almost did. What he _did_.

His phone rings and he knows it’s Kevin, and he knows that he needs to answer. There are things happening in Kevin’s life that he needs to be there for and instead he’s here, he’s _here_ and there’s no way he can pick up the phone.  



End file.
